


Light and Darkness

by divisio



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, On Hiatus, Shadow Dave, davekat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisio/pseuds/divisio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Tinkerlu's Shadow!Dave AU, this story is written from Karkat's point-of-view, and is based loosely on a roleplay from MSPARP.  It explains Shadow!Dave's past and why he is haunting Karkat.  Lots of shipping happens, but don't get your hopes up too much; this is mostly fluffy, and smut is not likely to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

 

     Tonight is a quiet night, a luxury you usually savor, as it is not something that happens too often around here as of late. But somehow you find yourself unable to sleep. Sighing, you crawl out of bed. Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe you’re just restless. You know exactly what will solve this, so you head downstairs to fix yourself some hot chocolate. As you’re walking, you have a strange feeling that, no, it is not the cold that’s keeping you awake. But what? You can’t put your finger on it. Something is different. Maybe it’s the lack of a sleep suppressant that’s bothering you. You’ve grown so used to his…

    You shake the idea from your head. No, you don’t want to think about him tonight. He isn’t here. Out of sight, out of mind. And the less you have him on your mind, the better.

    As you dislodge his horrible face from your thinkpan, the mug you are reaching for slips through your fingers and shatters against the hard tile floor. A stream of profanities escapes your lips as you cautiously step over bits of broken ceramics to open the pantry door. You instantly jump back as you take in the sight of what is occupying your pantry. You have to mentally remind yourself not to step back any further as there are sharp pieces of glass everywhere, on which you can and will cut your bare feet.

    “Aw, fuck, not tonight.” You speak not with anger, but with sort of an exhausted defeat. By this point, you feel nothing except fed up. The unpleasant spectral being before you grins his signature shit-eating grin, but despite the fact that your heart is pounding in your chest, you are feeling more gutsy than usual. “Get the fuck out of the way so I can get the broom.” You are keeping your distance, safe in the light, despite the need for the aforementioned cleaning tool.

    The shadowy figure remains firmly planted between you and the broom, and you are certain this is going to be another difficult night. “Why don’t you just come and get it?” You swear you can hear tildes sprinkled throughout his words, and you groan internally. “What’s the matter, Kitkat? Afraid of a little shadow?”

    “No,” you lie. The shadow terrifies you periodically, but you refuse to admit this fact aloud ever. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction. “I just feel like reaching through you is the kind of vomit-worthy task that would tie a knot so tight through my fucking innards that I could swallow a popcorn kernel and have it need to ask for directions.”

    “You’re breakin’ my heart, nubs.”

    You roll your eyes, and… oh, fuck it. You leap forward and make a grab for the broom, but your wrists are caught mid-reach by alarmingly cold hands. A shudder runs down your spine, though it is not due to the temperature of his skin - if it could even be classified as skin. You swallow, your breathing accelerating. Oh god oh god oh god he’s touching you. “Let go, d-dammit.” Your voice barely comes out above a whisper. You tug at your arms, but know it is no use. He’s got you, and it’s your own fault for leaving your bright haven. You can feel his icy breath against your face, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You want nothing more than to return to the comfort of your room, tucking yourself securely under your blankets.

    “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.” Oh, this ought to be good. You say nothing, awaiting his sure to be horrifying demands. “Leave the lights out in your room tonight. Getting real tired of this sleeping in closets shit.”

    You laugh dryly. “And have your slimy hands all over me while I’m trying to fucking sleep? Thanks, but fuck off, Strider. I’d rather take my chances sleeping in the god damn snow than with you.” Something seems… off about your unwanted house guest tonight. His advances seem rather half-hearted, and you’re not sure if you should take that as a blessing.

    He heaves a sigh and you are shocked to find that he has released you from his grip. “Fine. You win, dude. I’ll leave.” You are too confused to do a celebratory dance. You know there is some sort of catch to his departure, and you’re certain you’re not going to like what he says next. “Under one condition.” Ah, there it is.

     “Let me guess,” you say with much more confidence. Somehow the thought of him leaving makes you feel stronger than you have felt in a long time. “You want me to sacrifice a goat in your name? No, no, it can’t possibly be that easy. Oh, I know. Do you want a demonic blow job straight from the fuckmaster general of the nine hells, Beelzebub the Many-Horned prostitute? How about ritual seppuku while a bowl of tea leaf ashes is strewn in front of me as a representation of the shame I've laden upon my ancestors? Or maybe you just want me to eat a fucking fungal croakbeast infected with all manner of horrible diseases like smallpox, polio, and friendship." You expect him to stop you from rattling off the most ridiculous tasks you can think of, but he doesn’t, and this goes on for at least a few more minutes before you run out of ideas. At this point, he’s just sort of glaring at you, and you admit you are kind of pleased that your words seem to be leaving a dent.

    “You finished?” You try to think of any other improbable requests, but you nod. “I want to tell you my story. And my condition is that you hear me out.”

    You are bewildered. “Hear you out? What the fuck do you mean? You want me to listen to some sob story that you‘re probably going to bullshit on the spot? You’re a god damned demon for fuck’s sake. What is there to tell?” He hesitates, an unusually glum look on his face. You have a sinking feeling in your gut. Pity, maybe? You shut your eyes and rub the bridge of your nose. “All right, Dave. I will listen to your idiotic ramblings, but you have to hand me that broom so I don’t kill myself later.” Dave hands you the broom, and your eyebrows go up in surprise. You begin sweeping the mug’s fragments up as the demon speaks in a hushed voice, as though he’s afraid someone even more fearsome than himself will hear.

    His first two words almost cause you to drop the broom: “I’m sorry.”


	2. Two

         "You're sorry."  You can't quite believe the words you are hearing.  It's as if they don't make any sense coming from his mouth. You can't help yourself now.  You are laughing.  "You're sorry?  That's fucking rich.  You've hounded me like a fucking barkbeast in heat for months on end, and you've got the nerve to claim that you are sorry."  The laughter grows to near hysterics, and you have to lean on the broomstick to keep your balance.  When you finally manage to calm yourself, you take a breath and your face contorts back into its normal irritated expression.  "Here is my carefully thought out and well-crafted response:  Fuck you with a rusty culling fork, Strider."

          "Yeah, okay.  I deserve that."  Seeing him with that guilty, pained expression is a strange phenomenon.  You are ambivalent about the fact that he feels remorse for his actions - or at least appears to.  Forgiving him is not going to be an easy task, if at all possible.  Not after the bullshit he has put you through: the sleepless nights spent shivering under your covers, the invasion of your personal privacy on a nearly nightly basis, the need to tiptoe through  _your own god damn hive_  with a flashlight.  Etcetera, etcetera...  Living with your own personal Hell does not have its perks, to say the very least.

          "Really heavy on the self-pity tonight, are we?"  You have every right to harbor bitterness toward the asshole, and you are going to put that bitterness on display while you have the opportunity - and while he's apparently being merciful.  "Would you like to weep softly upon my shoulder while I overlook the past year of torment and pat your shady, potentially mucous-coated back?  And then we'll be the bestest of friends, and go frolicking through fields of obnoxiously vibrant fucking pollen-sprouts while holding hands, as if none of this shit ever happened!"

          He looks down and you cross your arms, refusing to feel bad for the shadow.  "Look, I know I've been an insufferable prick--"

          "Understatement of the fucking millennium," you hiss.

          Dave talks over you.  "--But it hasn't been a walk in the park for me either."

         You toss the broom down aggressively as you finish cleaning, and it hits the ground with a loud  _snap!_   "Excuse me, princess?  Are you fucking serious right now?  Because the other night, you seemed more than content with torturing me, while retaining that pretentious grin on your ugly face the entire time.  So boo-fucking-hoo, conksuck.  I'm not having any of your sympathy for the devil bullshit.  Not in my hive."  The words "sympathy for the devil" stir something in him and he flinches, as though you had thrown the broom at  _him_  as opposed to the ground.  "And for the record, the wounded-kitten act is not a good look for you."

         "It's not an act, you fucking douche-eater.  I am beyond wounded.  If you put my soul through a blender--"

          "Your  _soul_?  Do demons even  _have_  souls?"

          The demon rolls his blank red eyes.  "Don't be a fucking retard.  We have more souls than we need, obviously, but my own personal soul has been put through a blender powered on liquefy and mixed with fucking napalm.  And I can't do this anymore."  He seems to be getting noticeably smaller, as though he is sinking to the floor.  Do demons even need to sit down?  He had mentioned that he sleeps, so obviously they get tired.  But with him, it's difficult to fish the scarce moments of sincerity out of the ocean of irony.  "Because you and I used to be friends in another timeline... Close friends."  You consider pulling up a chair to listen to his story, but you're not sure you can sit still long enough, so instead you constantly shift your weight from one foot to the other, pacing sometimes as you carry out the conversation.

          He notices your silence and goes on.  "Realtalk here, dude.  This is a punishment.  I fucked up majorly with some people in real low places.  I'm not talking got-an-F-in-biology fucked up.  I'm talking invaded-Russia-during-the-god-damn-winter fucked up.  I'm talking--"

          "Get to the point, Strider.  What did you do?  Screw Satan's wife?  Satan's son.  Satan's goat.  Am I close?"

          It brings you some satisfaction that Dave is having trouble keeping his poker face in check.  "Hit the nail on the fuckin' head, Vantas.  No, no, not nail.  More accurate of a shot than that.  It was more like hitting the wings off a fly with a dart from a mi--"

          "Don't you fucking patronize me with your long-winded and nonsensical metaphors.  What did you do?"

          He sucks in a breath.  "Remember all those near-death experiences you had a couple years ago?"

          You do remember, but it's not something you like to think about often.  "You mean when I'm  _not_ repressing them?"

          "They were supposed to be the real deal.  Every single one of them."

          "Whoa, holy shit.  Seriously?  Even the time I accidentally drowned in a punch bowl like a clumsy tool?"

          "Well, no.  That one was just a freak accident.  But the rest were supposed to be the end.  Like  _the end_  the end.  And..."  He chuckles humorlessly, and... is he fidgeting?  "For some reason - whether it was due to some dumbfuck infatuation or just me being a self-destructive moron - I thought it would be a fantastic idea to save your sorry ass time and time again.  And again.  And again.  And a-fucking-gain."

          Your mouth is hanging open a little by this point, and you have to wrack your brain for a  good response.  "Wow, either I am fucking great, or some sucker of a demon has been deluded into thinking he found a choice piece of ass and called dibs.  I'm assuming the latter, because let's be honest; I'd probably make a better lay than anything serious."

          "Would you shut the fuck up for two minutes?  You have no idea what kind of serious shit I've been fucking with."

          You're not really making the connections.  "So how is having 24/7 grope privileges a punishment?  I don't understand the dilemma you're having here."

          He grits his surplus of razor-sharp teeth.  "You think I fucking  _enjoy_  this?  This is my own personalized Hell, which, believe it or not, is not nearly as  _good_  as it's made out to be.  Even for a demon.  Especially since..."  Especially since he pissed off the boss.  "I was given two options, Karkat.  And believe it or not, this was the best alternative."

          "Was the other option to hideously lose your junk to a meat-grinder?"

          There is quite literally fire in his eyes right now; you have not been taking him seriously since he started, and this seems to be the last straw.  "You know what?  I'm trying to make amends here because you never asked for this shit.  But tonight's my last night here whether I apologize or not.  And regardless of how you feel about me, my head is once again on the chopping block.  So either you can shut your galactically vast black hole of a maw and let me explain myself, or I can go."

          He looks like he's about to cry, and after what you've heard, you can't help but feel for the guy.  "Okay, okay.  Don't get your ethereal panties in a bunch.  I'm listening."

          Dave sighs.  "Option one was to let you die and have you pay for my mistakes  _tenfold_  while I watched helplessly from the sidelines...  And that wasn't going to happen for obvious reasons.  The other option was to deal out the punishment myself, and I can promise you that you'd be a lot worse off with one of those other dicks.  So here we are.  I'm stuck here for an eternity, and you're stuck with me."

          You finally shuffle over to get a chair from the table and drag it to the closet.  This is quite a bit to stomach, and your need to sit down outweighs your need to move around.  "So what exactly would you leaving entail?"

          He swallows hard, avoiding eye-contact.  "I'll have to improvise.  And by improvise, I mean get on my phantasmal knees and beg for some other punishment that doesn't drag you back into my fucked up emotional life."  Ouch.

          "Can't you do something else?  Like call it quits and go back to being human, or whatever you were before you became... this?"  As much as you hate it, you suddenly feel the urge to help him.

          "Doesn't work that way, dude," he says.

          "So a kiss won't turn you back into a handso--  a prince? ...Ess?"

          Dave glances up at you with what you judge are hopeful eyes.  "No, but you just gave me a brilliant idea."


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry you guys. School's starting back up so this chapter isn't as good as the first two. I did my best to fix it, but hopefully the next chapter will be better.  
> I appreciate all the hits, kudos, and bookmarks. Thanks for reading!  
> By the way, if you have any questions about the AU, I do have a tumblr. My name is Divisio.

          Your new friend wastes no time, jumping straight into his ultimate plan for freedom.  You don't even have a chance to cut in with any snippy remarks, but strangely enough, you're not as disappointed as you would normally be.

          "As a demon, I can make deals with humans, trolls, cherubs, leprechauns... basically any form of sentient life.  Any deal I want."  He pauses, and the look he is giving you makes you feel uneasy.  "...As long as the contract results in me getting your soul."  He smirks.  "I'm sort of like a lawyer in that sense."

          "Gee, I can't help but wonder where this feeling of impending doom is coming from."

          "Fortunately for you, I have control over when your soul gets taken.  I can request to receive it in... oh, say... a hundred, two hundred years."

          You rest your head against the back of the chair, closing your eyes.  This is overwhelming, even by your standards, and you need a moment to let it sink in.  "Let me get this straight.  I can wish you were a  _real boy_ , and we can go on living peacefully without any more of this Satan bullshit?"

          "More or less."

          "I've just got one question."  He raises an eyebrow, and you are unable to keep yourself from smiling just a little.  "As a human, is your junk bigger than mine?"

          His eyes narrow, and for a second, you think he's going to get upset again.  "Yes.  Very."

          Finally, he's playing along.  "Okay, deal's off.  Back to Hell with you."

          Dave is gaping, flabbergasted, and for a few hilarious moments, his mouth opens and closes like a fish's.  "What the fuck did you want me to say?  Do you want me to lie to you?"

          You push yourself up from the seat to stand right in front of him, and in your best (worst) Dave Strider voice, you start to mock him.  "'Oh, Karkat!  Your glorious junk is far too much for me to handle.  I am blushing like a school girl just thinking about it.'"  You fan yourself as if your words are true as you snicker at his annoyance.  You expect him to snark back at you, but he doesn't.  Instead, that hurt look returns to his eyes, and you know another guilt-trip is on its way.

          "Are you still having doubts that I value you more than myself, Karkat?  Because if so, we can spend my last minutes here stroking your fragile ego instead of coming up with a solution to our monumental problem."

          "Jesus christ.  I didn't realize you were going to be a whiny little wriggler about every little fucking thing tonight."  You sit back down, crossing your arms.  "All right.  Whatever.  How does this work?  Do I just say my wish and you wave your magic wand like my fairy god demon, and the wish comes true?"

          He shifts uncomfortably.  "There's a bit more to it than that.  You can't have any loopholes that Lucy's fiery asshole goons can pick at, or we're both royally fucked with a pitchfork.  And I mean that in the literal sense."

          "Okay, I really did not need the image, but thank you very much for that.  What else?"  He turns away slightly and mutters something you don't quite catch.  "What was that?  You really shouldn't try to talk when your mouth is full of bullshit."

          He sighs and speaks up.  "You have to kiss me."  You begin to protest, but he puts his hands up.  "Them's the breaks, kid.  That's how demon deals work.  It's the only way to seal the contract.  Believe me, if I could change it, I would."

          "First of all, don't call me 'kid'.  We're basically the same age."  At least you don't have to sacrifice a goat.  Lord knows where you'd even find one at this time of night.  "Secondly, that's an astronomically convenient way for you to seal a contract.  I can't believe you're trying to put your moves on me _still_."  He knows you're fucking with him, and doesn't reply, so you move on.  "Okay, here goes nothing.  I, Karkat Vantas, wish that, uh..."  You make certain to choose your words carefully, remembering the pitchfork.  "...Dave Strider is reverted back to his original human form, and that he and I are both exempt from any form of punishment, and that he and I are both completely immune from demon shenanigans for the duration of both our souls, or until my soul is collected after, uh... Three hundred years, just to be safe.  Whichever one comes last.  We also both get to live long, natural lives.  That means no premature deaths.  One last thing."  You flash a half-grin at Dave.  "When reverted, Dave Strider's junk will be--"

          "No," he interrupts.  "Nothing about my junk or you can forget about the whole thing."

          You purse your lips.  "Fine, fine.  Scratch the part about your junk.  How does the rest sound?"

          He looks uneasy.  "It's fine."

          "So do I actually have to kiss you back, or do you just sort of come at me?"

          Another demonic eye-roll.  "It has to be mutual or the contract is not binding."

          "Okay, great.  You at least have to come out of the fucking pantry, though."  He stares at you.  "What is it now?"

          "You have to turn off the lights, numbnuts."

          "Oh, right."  You get up to flip off the switch, but your hand lingers over it for a while as that roiling vomitous feeling you get in your stomach whenever you are around Dave and darkness returns.  "I swear to god, if you're fucking with me--"

          He shrugs.  "Not that good of an actor, dude."

          "Yeah, okay."  You turn out the lights, and your breaths come out in uneven bursts as he approaches you.

          "Are you sure you want to do this?"  You can hear genuine concern in his voice, and that comforts you a bit.

          "It's not like we're going to get married or anything."

          "Heh, yeah..."  Is that disappointment you hear?

          Your lips meet his own freezing mouth.  In the darkness, you can vaguely see his eyes shut.  He is obviously trying to be discrete about the fact that he's probably enjoying this.  Who knew demons had hearts, anyway?

          When you break the reluctant kiss, you look down, shocked that he is a human, and that it worked, and...

           _Oh._

          "You're naked."  You avert your gaze to the ceiling, and you hear him shuffling awkwardly in front of you.

          "Well, yeah!" he sputters.  "What did you think would happen?  You should have wished I was wearing pants, dude!"

          "There's no way I could have known!" you huff back.  "Augh, whatever.  I'll get you some pants.  Can I turn the lights back on?"

          "Uh..."  He's not thrilled with this idea, and you're pretty sure it's not due to the nudity situation, but the fact that he probably hasn't been in the light in a long time.  You think it's sort of poetic the way his fear of light reflects your fear of darkness.  Actually, strike that; you think it's really lame.  "Okay, fine."

          You flip the switch and the lights are back on.  There is nowhere else for your eyes to go, and you catch a glimpse of the boy standing in front of you.  "Oh, shit..."

          His face is red and he is wincing at the lights and looking everywhere except at you.  "What?"  His eyes match his face, but they are no longer the cold, dead, ghostly red that they once were.  No, these eyes are alive, softer... _Human._  And now that there are more colors than a few different shades of grey, you can see that his messy hair is a vibrant blonde.

          "Shit, you're hot."  What the hell?   _What the hell?_   Why did you _say that_? He looks up, stunned.  "Hold on, I mean...  You just aren't as repulsive as..."  Words are not coming easily to you, and now your face is as red as his. _  
_

          "Okay, why don't you take your foot out of your mouth, quit  _oggling_ me, and go get me some god damn clothes?"

          You nod, and are infinitely relieved that he has given you an excuse to scramble out of the room.  You nearly trip on your way up the stairs in your hurry to get him into some clothing.  You give him one of your larger shirts and a pair of stretchy sweat pants, because this guy is taller than you by several inches, and you're not sure anything else will fit.  He throws them on hastily, and only when he is fully clothed are you able to look at him again.

          "Uh, thanks.  Not just for the clothes, but..."  He trails off.  Oh no.  His eyes are shining with tears, and...

          ...And it is  _way_ too late for this shit.

          "Hey, no.  None of that, okay?  Let's just figure out what to do next with our newfound freedom."

          Dave throws a dejected glance at the door.  "You want I should leave?"

          Surprisingly, you don't want that.  Not even a little bit.  "It's fucking snowing out, you slobbering idiot.  I'm not that much of a douchebag.  Besides, where would you even go?"  He shrugs.  Now that he is human, it is much easier for that lost-my-puppy look to affect you.  You hesitate, but allow your friendlier side to take over.  "I was in the middle of fixing hot chocolate.  Do you want a cup?"

          His face brightens instantly.  "I haven't had hot chocolate - or any type of beverage for that matter - in so long."

          That's a yes.  You fill up the kettle with water and put it on the stove.  "The answer is no, by the way."

          "What?"

          "You cannot sleep in my block."

          His lips twitch into a smirk, but it's a mere shadow of the smirk you've grown to hate.  This one is much more playful and much less cold and menacing.  "You sure?  If you're still afraid of the dark, I could--"

          You give him a light shove.  "You're on the fucking couch, you insufferable prick."


	4. Four

          You are starting to fall asleep, and for the first time in a year, you feel safe in your own bed.  No monsters in your closet anymore.  Exhaustion overtakes your mind, and you cannot even contemplate your new pal and what will happen with him.  You can deal with this later.  All you know is, you feel good tonight, and you are going to sleep just fi--

          Someone downstairs screams, and you already know who it is.  This is the kind of luck you have, isn't it?  No rest for the wicked and all that karmatic shit, right?  You fling yourself out of bed and hurry downstairs to find a bundle of Dave and blankets on the floor beside the couch.  You rush over to him, but he tenses up at your touch.  "Calm down, Strider.  It's just me."  He uncovers his face to look up at you before climbing back up onto the couch.  "Are you okay?"

          "I'm fine."  He is anything but fine.  He's an absolute mess.  His breathing is heavy and irregular, and his shirt ( _your_ shirt) is soaked with sweat.

          "What the hell happened?  I leave you alone for twenty minutes, and you're down here having a fucking coronary.  Clearly you are terrible at this human thing."

          "I had a nightmare," Dave murmurs, clearly ashamed of this fact.

          "So did I, but I wished for him to go away and he became my roommate.  Funny how shit like that works out, right?"  Dave doesn't look amused by your attempt at humor, so you plop down beside him on the couch.  It's tough being sensitive toward the guy who gave you shit for the past year.  It's tough, and no one understands.  "I hope you realize how completely and utterly worn out I am by your never-ending bullshit.  I'm running on fucking fumes here, so if you waste any more of my time with your pathetic aversions, I'm going to kick your ass straight back to hell.  What happened?"

          He is staring down at his feet, and he heaves a sigh.  "Guess I'm a little worried.  About too much shit for one talk."  It's strange, seeing your former enemy so vulnerable.  You want to console him, and the memories of when he was a shadow are doing nothing to erase that feeling.

          You put your arms around him rather begrudgingly.  You'll never get used to the way he looks when he's surprised.  "I can only assume it was relevant to demons."

          "Among other things."

          "Other things being..."

          His muscles contract further, if that's possible.  "You, mostly."

          You don't have to ask for any elaboration.  He's all but confessed his undying love for you.  "Oh."

          "Oh," he repeats, as though accepting that as some sort of final answer from you.  His shoulders slump a little bit.

          "Don't get all pissy, Dave.  A lot of shit has happened tonight that I still need to just... let sink in.  On top of that, I'm tired as fuck.  So give me some time to... you know, get used to you or something."  You offer him your warmest smile, but you're bad at smiling to begin with, and being fatigued as hell doesn't help, so it's more like a grimace.  "Now go the fuck to sleep, and let me do the same.  Everything will be fine.  I promise."  He nods, and you give him a reassuring squeeze before you go back upstairs.  You can only hope he doesn't have any more nightmares, because you refuse to get out of bed for anything less than the house catching on fire.

 

 

 

 

~

           The next day is a Saturday, which means that you don't have to work.  You are more than content with your decision to sleep in until well into the afternoon.  Your hive guest can take care of himself... you assume.  You just hope he remembers how to complete simple tasks, such as feeding himself and using the toilet.  It is beyond you to worry about that right now, as you sleep peacefully for once, snuggled up in your warm bed, not a creepy shadow in sight.  It doesn't come as much of a surprise to you that Dave is already up and about when you finally head downstairs.  The strong scent of coffee fills your nose as you enter the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.  He's at the table sipping the dark liquid from one of your mugs, and -  _what the hell?_ \- he's wearing a dark red suit and black aviators, not a hair on his head out of place.  You get the sickening feeling that this is all some sort of setup to seduce you.

          "About time you woke up, nubs."  He smirks, and you know he is aware of you eyeing his suit.  "Coffee?"

          You nod.  Dave pours you a cup; he has considerately left plenty of coffee for you.  You like to add plenty of sugar and cream to your coffee, and he doesn't judge you for that.  He knows all of this already from having lived ( _not_ lived?) here so long.  "Okay, you are going to have to explain the fancy getup, and more importantly, how the hell...?"  Hopefully he hasn't spent any of  _your_ hard-earned cash on his attire, although you are fairly certain you would have heard him, had he come into your room to take it.

          "You like it?"  He is clearly proud of himself as he straightens his tie.  "Did some job-hunting today, and - nothing guaranteed - I got a few bites.  It's the suit.  Brings out the Strider charm."

          You sort of envy him.  Evidently, it is easier for an attractive (yes, you will admit that he looks damn good in the suit) blonde human to get the attention of any potential employers than it is for a mutant-blooded, nub-horned troll to do the same.  Your job makes ends meet just fine, but you can guess he'll have a better job than a seafood waiter sooner than you will.  "You still haven't answered my question, you blithering numbskull: Where did you get the suit?"

          "Commissions."

          "You mean like that guy who runs around in the stupid bat suit and fights crime?  Those sorts of commissions?"

          Dave shifts anxiously.  "I draw some."

          You raise an eyebrow.  No doubt, the two of you will be learning plenty more little details like this one about each other.  That is, if he plans on sticking around long enough for that to happen.  The fact that he got up and started taking the initiative to get a job so quickly makes you think he might want to get out of here ASAP.  Probably he either thinks you don't want him here, or it's just too awkward.  Perhaps both.  "Are you any good at it?"

          He shrugs his shoulders modestly.  "I'm no Picasso.  It helped that the suit was dirt-cheap at Goodwill."  You can't actually believe the suit was _that_ cheap, what with its current, near flawless condition.  "I got no clue how this job thing is going to work out legally.  I don't have any of my old paperwork, and even if I did, there are some details that probably wouldn't match up.  I'll probably have to find someone who is willing to pay me under the table."  He seems jittery.  Maybe coffee wasn't such a great idea.  The corners of his lips rise ever so slightly.  "Something like  _waiting_ would be good, maybe."

          Your scowl is almost involuntary.  He definitely knows, and you are  _not_ pulling any strings for this guy.  You've been working your ass off to keep this job as it is, and, smartass fuck-up that he is, Dave would probably get you fired if you so much as  _recommended_ him.  "No.  Fuck no.  I'm a troll who's already being doubly discriminated against at work for being a fucked-up freak.  You think I want to lose my job to an overbearing bulge-pipe like you?"

          "Dude, you're not a freak.  And I'm not looking to take your shitty job.  I was just hoping you could offer some suggestions. I've never dealt with the job business in my life.  Well, besides you-know-what, but I can't exactly slap that on a resume."

          "How old are you, anyway?"

          "Seventeen, physically."  You can't tell if he's telling the truth, or if he chose your age on purpose.  You suppose that's why he bought the shades in the first place; they act as some sort of emotional shield.  "But I've been around a lot longer," he adds.

          "How much longer?"  Now that he's Mister Friendly, you are eager to know more about his past.

          Dave takes a huge gulp of coffee, licking his lips thoughtfully.  "It's complicated.  Time works differently in Hell.  Like, you know how when you're really bored, time moves a lot slower?"

          "Yeah?"

          "It's nothing like that."  You scoff at his explanation and glower until he continues.  "A month here is the equivalent of ten years in Hell.  So in here-years, I'm probably in my late twenties or so, but if you convert that to Hell-years, I'm about..."  He leans back in his chair, and you can see his eyebrows furrow behind his glasses in concentration.  "One-twenty or so."

          "Holy shit!"  You resist the urge to make a pedophile joke.  "So, uh..."  You pause to take a drink of your own coffee, and you have grown conscious of your messy bed-head hair and crab pajamas.  He is patient with you and makes no remarks on the matter.  Probably still thinks he owes you or something.  You hope he'll get out of that phase soon.  It's annoying, to say the least.  "Who did you have to piss off to wind up a demon?"

          "Politicians.  Mafia.   Drug-ring.  Take your pick.  It doesn't really matter."

          "You could have just said you didn't want to fucking talk about it," you growl.

          He rests his arms on the table, turning his head away.  "Well, I don't.  It's more tragic than a fucking Shakespeare play, and a part of my life that I just want to pretend never happened.

          "Fine, whatever."  You don't press any further.  He'll tell you eventually.  Maybe when he breaks out of this self-loathing shell of his.  With any luck, that'll be soon, too.  "So how exactly did I end up on Satan's shit list?  I know I'm not exactly a saint, but I haven't done anything colossally shitty, have I?"

          "Nope, my fault, as per usual."  You stand up abruptly, toppling over your mug and spilling coffee all over the table and -  _fuck fuck fuck ow_ \- yourself.  "What the hell, Kar--"

          "Would you stop blaming yourself for twelve fucking seconds?"  You snatch up the towel hanging over the handle of the stove and begin blotting at your stained pants.  "God dammit, Dave!  It's not -  _fuck!_ \- it's not your fault, okay?  You can't control who you have disgusting human feelings for, you deficient globe-nuzzler!"

          Your guest raises an eyebrow.  "Globe-nuzzler?"

          "Fuck you!  I just spilled hot coffee on my crotch!"  He snickers, and you take the time to flip him the finger before dashing upstairs to change pants.


	5. Five

          Your efforts over the next week to break Dave’s unusually timid demeanor appear to be somewhat successful, as he has been quickly emptying your fridge, watching your television, running up your water bill.  All it took was some yelling and insisting that he quit being such a goddamn pansy and just make himself at home.  You’ve even offered to clear out the office so he can make a room of his own.  He refused, though he had definitely considered it.  You think you’ll just do it when Dave isn’t around, regardless of how he feels.  You make a mental note to start saving some money to get him a proper bed.

          A few places have called him back for job interviews, and all of them sound promising until the both of you realize that in an employer’s eyes, no records probably equals criminal or terrorist.

          “Have you considered the possibility of counterfeit documents?”

          He stares at you. At least, you _think_  he’s staring. The glasses have become a regular accessory with him, and he is almost always wearing them. “Are you condoning identity fraud?”

          You scoff.  “You were a demon.  What do you care about the legality bullshit?”

          “I don’t, but I’m pretty sure if I get caught, you become a co-conspirator in my nefarious schemes.”

          “I’m sorry; have you got a better idea in that idiot brain of yours that you’re not telling me about?”

          Dave shakes his head. “Now that you mention it, I got a girl who owes me a favor. I’ll see what she can do.”

          “What did you do? Did you save her cat from certain doom?”

          He pours himself what must be his fourth cup of coffee since you’ve been up today.  He takes his black, and he seems to like  the strong bitterness of the beverage quite a bit.  It must have been a long wait since he was last able to enjoy coffee as much as he has been lately.  “She’s a demon.  And a scary one, at that.  I wouldn’t be surprised if she eats cats.”

          You, on the other hand, are drinking soda, which you nearly choke on.  “No.  No more demons.  I thought we were done with all that.”

          He waves it off. “It’s just one demon, Karkat. It’s not like I know anyone else who has experience in the dealings of criminals.”

          He has a point.  Doesn’t make you like it any more, though.  “What about your politicians, mafia, and drug-ring friends?”

          You catch a fleeting smile, but he composes himself, probably hoping you didn’t notice.  “Those guys are lame.  They used to call me names and steal my lunch money.”  You snort.  “Don’t worry.  I can handle myself around her.”

          “All right, all right.  Just don’t get me involved in any more of your stupidity.  I want nothing to do with it.  And when the shit hit’s the fan, do not come crying to me.  I think I’ve bailed you out of shitty demon jail enough for one lifetime.”  You are mostly joking.  If he fucked up again, you know you’d come running to the rescue if that was a viable option.

          “No promises, man.”

          You finish up your drink and grab a cookie from the pantry.  “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go dress in a piratey abomination of a uniform and serve fish to a bunch of ungrateful douchebags for eight hours.  Don’t get yourself killed while I’m gone.”

          He nods and slurps at his coffee as you start up the stairs to change.

 

 

 

~

>Be the insecure human.

          You are now Dave Strider, and, congratulations!  You’ve got emotions!  These emotions include, but are not limited to: guilt, anxiety, fear, more infatuation with a certain horned grump than you could ever know what to do with, and happiness caused by the end of your demon era and the renewal of your human era.  You are getting back into the flow of humanity, and you’ve started off by imbibing more coffee than your bladder can handle.  The caffeine does not make it easy to keep a smooth face.  Maybe you ought to ease it out of your system before the meeting with your demon buddy - caffeine tends to make you impulsive.

          You switch to water promptly after Karkat departs, and once you mellow out, you set off on your journey.  If she is still the same old crossroads demon you remember, she’ll be hanging out at Haddigan’s - a bar just a few miles from Karkat’s place - just waiting for some sucker to come along and make a deal.  You make good time getting there, but you aren’t too worried.  You’ll definitely be finished with your errand with plenty of time to spare before your roommate returns home.

          The bar is not crowded, and as you enter, the prickly scent of alcohol and burnt nachos assaults your nostrils.  They have bad country music playing on the jukebox, and a few tattooed fellows (who you assume own the motorcycles out front) are making a racket at the pool table.  You scan the room and see her in the corner, silently sipping a fruity red drink.  She looks exactly the way she did the last time you saw her: bright red glasses, short dark hair, tanned skin, curves that could make a roller coaster jealous…  Just how persuasive she is, both in body and in spirit had slipped your mind until this moment.  Beside her is a pale metallic walking-stick.  Ah, yes.  You had almost forgotten that she’s blind.  To anyone who didn’t know her, it would be difficult to tell.  She always seems to know exactly what’s going on and how to deal with it.

          You take a seat beside her without invitation and she flashes you a dazzling, but devious grin.  You know already before she says a word that she is aware of your presence, and knows exactly who you are.

          “Never thought I’d see _you_ again.”

          You smirk.  “And you never will.”

          She laughs much too loudly and sticks out her hand.  “Good to meet you again, Strider.”

          You accept it and give her a firm handshake.  “Been a while, Pyrope.”

          Terezi traces your hand with her fingers as though she is trying to see them without actually seeing them.  “What happened to you?  You were gone a year and a half, and now you’re this fleshy, blobby human.”  She makes a face and tosses your hand away in disgust.

          “Long story.”

          “It didn’t have anything to do with that pissy troll kid, did it?”

          “Of course not,” you lie.  “I’m so over that dude.”

          “Bullshit!” she cries, and then noisily sucks up the remains of her vibrant drink, frowning at the empty glass.  “Okay, I’m going to assume you’re not here for small-talk, Dave.  What do you want?”

          She’s good.  “I need a favor.”

          The demon snaps her fingers, and a timid young man comes running over from behind the bar.  “Get the kid a drink, would you.”  It’s not a question.

          His eyes dart between the two of you, and you are certain he is going to card you, when Terezi scowls at him.  “Uh, what can I get you?”

          The only alcohol you’ve ever drunk in your life is beer and occasionally champagne with your Bro, so you say the first thing that comes to mind.  “Let’s go with an apple martini.”  Appletini sounds like a ridiculous name for a drink, and you refuse to call it that.  He scurries away and quickly returns with your beverage and - you guess it’s a strawberry daiquiri - for Terezi, who commands that the cost of both beverages be put on her tab.

          He disappears back behind the bar, and she speaks again.  “What can I do for you, coolkid?”

          You taste your martini, trying to ignore the vodka that is burning your mouth.  It is difficult to swallow, and it is all you can do not to cough it back up.  “I need some legal documents.”

          “Yeah?  For who?”

          “The pope.  Who the fuck do you think?”

          “Okay, smartass.  I’m just going to go ahead and assume you haven’t had any papers since the last time you were human.  Tell you what: I’m in a generous mood today, and you did help me out of a sticky situation back in Chicago, so I’ll do this one free of charge.  Next one will cost you a soul or two, though, so don’t make it a habit of coming to me for things, got it?  You’re not a demon anymore, so you have to stop relying on demon powers for everything.”  She picks a pineapple chunk out of her glass and licks the thick red liquid off it before popping it into her mouth.  “And by the way, I heard about your contract, and I’d be careful if I were in your shoes.  You’re on Hell’s Most Wanted list, kid, and not all demons are going to be as compassionate as myself.”

          “Duly noted.”

          “You’ll have your papers by next Tuesday.  I get to add my own details, though, just for fun.”  She grins, and you can tell she’s going to make it her goal to ruin your life.  “Be careful out there, Dave.  I’m not helping you again after this, but I do have a soft spot for cute deadpans, so don’t get yourself killed, okay?”

          You chuckle.  “You’re the second person who’s said that to me today.”

          “That you’re a cute deadpan?”

          “‘Don’t get yourself killed.’”

          “For good reason.  You’re nothing if not a magnet for chaos.”


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this chapter is so short. The next chapter is a lot longer, I promise. It also may seem like this chapter was written purely for fluff, but it introduces a character that will be important later on.  
> Also, I realize that a lot of you are here for Shadow!Dave, and he's sort of vanished from the story. I apologize for that. I never really intended to get rid of him completely, but it just happened that way.  
> Within the next few chapters, I will be jumping back into the demonic bits of the plot, and a bigger conflict is on its way, so please be patient.  
> Once again, I want to thank you all for reading. I really appreciate an audience.  
> Okay, I'll stop talking now and let you read. <3

            You have nothing better to do until Karkat gets off work, so you make your way down to the diner on the way to the house.  It’s an old-fashioned burger place, designed to be a replica of a restaurant from the fifties.  You love that place in an unironic way, in part because of its authenticity down to the last detail, but mostly because their milkshakes are to die for.  The last time you were here, you were just a kid, and the checkerboard tables bring on an achy nostalgia.  The host seats you at a booth near the window, and soon, a waitress arrives.

            “I’m Feferi, and I’m going to be taking care of you today!” she squeaks.  She’s a troll, who looks to be about in her twenties, but with the bright purple nametag, it’s difficult to tell.  Purple-blooded trolls often age more slowly than any other troll, so for all you know, she could be in her fifties.  “Somefin to drink, sweetheart?”  Somefin.  A fish pun, you have no doubt, as you glance at the flappy, rubbery fins where her ears would be.  You’ve never understood how it’s possible to have a fish-troll hybrid, but you suppose that’s none of your business.

            “One of your chocolate shakes, if you please.”

            She smiles sweetly, jotting that down on a notepad.  “Are you ready to order now, or shell I come back later?”

            “I’ll order now.”  You consider the irony of ordering a fish sandwich, but you don’t care much for seafood, and you don’t want to upset the poor girl, especially when she’s acting all bubbly and cute on your behalf.  “And are the fish puns on porpoise?”

            She giggles at the pun, and her earfins seem to go up in excitement.  “Ocray!  Water you thinking of getting?”  You smile.  Normally the puns would be cringe-worthy, but somehow she makes them work.  Her enthusiasm is like a fucking virus.  You can’t help but share it.

            “Just a bacon burger.  Hold the onions.”  Scribble scribble.

            “All righty!  Is that all?”

            “Side of apple slices… Just for the halibut.”

            She nods, grinning.  You’d better slow down, or you might give the girl a heart-attack.  “If you think of anyfin eels, let minnow.”  She skips away happily, an extra bounce in her step, and even more bounce in the massive curls piled precariously on top of her head.  Maybe she and Karkat should swap jobs.  It seems to you that she would be better suited working at a nautically themed restaurant than a 50s restaurant.

            The meal is delicious, and the slim, long-haired waitress is eager to please you.  She checks up on you much more often than necessary.  When your plate is clean, she comes by with the check, and you pay with some money that Karkat has loaned you (a loan which you fully intend to pay back with interest).  Your tip is more than generous.  On your way out, you want to properly introduce yourself, but she’s gone before you get a chance – you’re probably the last customer of her shift.

            You are definitely coming back here again.  Maybe when you work up the courage to ask Karkat out, you’ll take him here, assuming he says yes.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, not the long chapter I thought it was (it takes up like five pages in my notebook, I am sorry), but here it is. Enjoy the feels and the cuddles.  
> I'll just be over here working on chapter eight.

            Rain is coming down hard when you leave the restaurant, so you duck into a bookstore a few blocks from home in the hopes of finding an umbrella.  As if in anticipation of your arrival, a container of umbrellas has been placed by the door.  There is a piece of paper taped to the plastic holder, and hand-written on it in big letters with a Sharpie is “$5”.  No doubt this was hastily put out just after or just before the downpour.  You decide that you will browse the store for a few minutes before you check out.  In that time, you hope the weather will calm down somewhat.

            It is your first instinct to go directly to the music section, but a bookstore employee is at work arranging the shelf.  You don’t want to disturb him, so you browse the video game section nearby.  You are holding the new Call of Duty game in your hands when you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

            “Excuse me.”  You turn around and are hit with an overwhelming wave of shock and familiarity.  It is the same young man that had been organizing the music, but you hadn’t recognized him from behind.

            Outwardly, at least, you are able to remain unfazed.  “Yeah?”

            He holds out a leather square, which you recognize as your own.  “Lose something?”

            “Oh, shit.  Thanks.”  You pocket the wallet and are grateful for your shades – you can stare freely without him taking notice.

            He tilts his head in a confused puppy sort of way.  “Do I know you from somewhere?”

            Your eyebrows go up.  He doesn’t know you.  You don’t exist in his universe.  At least, not previously.  “Maybe.  What’s your name?”

            “John.  John Egbert.”

            Why does this _hurt_ so much?  John Egbert was your best friend before… You swallow, shoving the memories to the back of your mind.  “I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone by the name.  Sorry, dude.”

            John snaps his fingers.  “Strider.”  Your heart skips a beat.  “You remind me of my best bro, Dirk Strider.”  Your heart sinks and he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.  “That’s weird.  He never mentioned any relatives besides his sister, but any chance you’re related?”

            You shrug, trying to remain indifferent.  It is becoming an increasingly difficult task, however, as you are assaulted by dusty memories.  “Could be.  I don’t talk to my family much these days.”  Ha!  How morbidly true _that_ is!

            “Oh!  All right.  Haha, sorry about that.  You’re just a dead ringer for the guy, I swear it!  Aw, well.  Let me know if I can do anything for you.”  He flashes you a buck-toothed smile and returns to his work, leaving you feeling alone and hurt and unimportant.  Screw the music.  You can’t bear to remain here another minute.

~

            Once home, you are flooded with emotions that are no longer repressible, despite your strongest efforts.  You are alone, so you don’t bother trying to contain yourself anymore.  You flop down belly-first onto the couch and allow yourself some time to release your feelings.  But the door opens shortly after you have curled up on the couch.

            “Dave?  They sent us home early, thank Troll Jegus.”  He takes off his wet jacket and tosses it over a chair.  You yank your hood over your face and fumble around, trying to find your glasses.  You can’t see them anywhere through your severely blurred eyes, so you forget about that and start making your way over to the stairs.  “There was a hurricane warning, and…  Hey, jackass!  I’m trying to have a fucking conversation with you, and walking away from me is the epitome of rudeness.”  He grabs your shoulder and spins you around before you reach the staircase.

            Karkat’s face softens as he catches sight of the tears dripping down your chin.  “Hey, are you okay?” 

           “’m fine…”

           “You are not.  What happened?”  You find yourself unable to respond, so he tosses back your hood, revealing your puffy eyes and wet cheeks.  You let out a soft, startled gasp as he abruptly throws his arms around you, pulling you close to him.  Your nose wrinkles at the smell of fish, but you cling to him almost too tightly.  He knows you are upset, and that only makes you more upset.  Almost without your consent, your face buries itself in Karkat’s shoulder, and you can’t hold back.  Your entire torso shudders as you choke out quiet little sobs.  In over a century, you have never felt quite as shitty as you do at this moment.

           Much to your relief, Karkat doesn’t question you.  He simply leads you over to the couch and sits down, allowing you to remain cuddled up against him.  He strokes your hair and shooshes you, and it is strangely soothing.  Is this what moirails do?  You never cared much for troll romance and all the complexities of their quadrants, but now that you are living with a troll, it might be a good idea to learn about them.  At the very least, you should look into the specifics of the red and pale romances.  You couldn’t care less about the blacker, negative relationships.

           Only when you have calmed down enough to produce anything that sounds even remotely like coherent language, does he speak.  “Talk to me, Dave.”

           You use what must be your twentieth tissue to wipe your eyes and nose.  God, you feel disgusting and pathetic right now.  All you wish to do is curl up in the farthest corner of a closet and sleep until the pain disappears.  You look up at him and he stares right back down, patiently waiting for your response.

           “Have I ever mentioned John to you?”  His name returns the lump to your throat.

           “I know next to nothing about your personal life, Dave.”

           “He was my best friend before—before I became a demon.  In that other timeline, you know?  Ran into him today.”

           “Did you tell him?”

           “Don’t be dumb, Karkat.  Of course I didn’t fuckin’ tell him.  But… he says he knows my bro, who apparently only has a sister.”

           “Jegus.”  Karkat gives your shoulder a pat.

           “Nobody remembers me.  I matter less than Andrew goddamn Hussie.”

           “Who the hell is that?”

           “Exactly.”

           “You matter,” he says softly.  Then he looks away and adds, "to me, at least.”  Why is he always comforting you?  Why does he even give a shit about someone like you?  “Look, I can sympathize with you.  I got separated from my lusus when I was barely out of my grub phase, and I don’t have many friends because I’m a fucking mutant.”

           “That’s not the same.  At least you exist.  At least you don’t have to get a demon to recreate your entire fucking identity, or become a burden on your…”  You trail off.  You have already shared way more than you are comfortable with.

           “Okay, there are a lot of words I would use to describe you: overbearing, obnoxious, cynical, cantankerous, stubborn, pompous--”

           “Comforting words, friend.”

           “—But I would _not_ call you a burden.  You’re all of those things I just said, but I don’t mind having you here.  Hell, I think you’re probably the best friend I have at the moment.”  Unsure of what to say, you give him a light squeeze.  “Now quit moping around and let’s go get some fucking icecream.”

           “Okay, but you gotta take a shower first, because you smell like ripe ass.”


	8. Eight

          Tonight’s dream starts out just the same as any dream you’ve had as a human; You’re in a tall purple tower, in a room that is nearly identical to the room you grew up in.  Frankly, you prefer this setting to the fiery place of your demon dreams.  Your current location feels more like home, to put it mildly.  You know it has a name, but it has been so long since you’ve heard it, you’re having trouble producing it at the moment.

          You decide to go for a walk in your never-changing purple pajamas.  There are whispers from the scarce inhabitants of the city as you pass by them, their inquisitive eyes sweeping over you once before avoiding your gaze.  None of them address you.  None of them allow enough proximity for you to address them.  You have nothing to say.

          It is eerily calm today, and the weather is still.  Your footsteps sound unbearably loud over the silence that envelops you.  It is impossible not to notice the quick, light footsteps in the alleyway beside you.  You turn just in time to catch a glimpse of two bright lights, one blue and one red, before you are dragged into the alley, your hands held firmly behind you and a hand clapped tightly over your mouth.  You struggle to escape, but your captor hushes you gently.

          “Calm down.  You’re not in any danger,” he whispers.  “I just want to talk.”  He has a thick lisp, so “just” sounds more like “jutht”.  Only when you relax and stop fighting does he release you.

          “What’s the deal?” you snap, and he shushes you again, so you lower your volume.  “Why’d you jump me, dude?  That shit’s not cool.”

          You can barely see him in the dark, but you can tell he’s a troll form the four pointy horns tucked under his mess of black hair.  His eyes appear to be the source of the red and blue lights, so you assume he’s a psionic.  “I have to be careful.  You’re under thurveilanth.”

          “Me?  Why?”

          “Doethn’t matter.  You’re in danger.  When you wake up, take Karkat Vantath and go thomewhere elthe - thomewhere thafe - or you’re both doomed.”

          “Okay, look, Sylvester.  This is just a dream.  You aren’t real.”

          “It’th not, and I think we both know that.  Your dream thelf ith in juth ath much danger ath your waking thelf.  Tho if you would like to continue with your exthithtenthe, you have to follow me.”

          “What about Karkat?  Is his dream self here, too?”

          The stranger grabs the sleeve of your shirt and tugs you further down the alley.  “He’th a Prothpit dreamer.  Or he wath.  Hith dream thelf hath been dead for a long time.”

          Of course it has.  Why should you expect any different?

          He leads you to a small cottage on the outskirts of town.  It is rickety, and looks like it is older than you, demon years included.  The floor creaks noisily as the pair of you enters, and for the most part, the house looks abandoned.  On the living room floor, there is a rug, worn and torn from age.  It is an ugly green color, and you think it may not have been that color to begin with.  It is thrown carelessly aside by your companion, revealing a built-in trap door.  He has some difficulty forcing it open, but when he finally manages to do so, both of you start down the decaying stairs.

          The light from his eyes seems to brighten, illuminating your path.  You are in awe as you take in the sight of what appears to be an elaborate network of tunnels, all of them connected to a central area.  The stranger tells you to go on ahead while he covers the entrance back up, and you step into the dimly lit room in the middle of it all.

          It is much busier in here than out on the vacant streets.  The small citizens shuffle this way and that, almost as if in a panic to get things done.  In the middle of the room is a long column of tables, placed in a single line.  Tall candlesticks flicker lights through the room, and--

          While you were busy marveling, someone has been trying to get your attention.  After what is probably the sixth time you hear, “Dave!” you stumble over to the head of the table, where a familiar troll sits.

          “Feferi?  What are you doing here?”  Your waitress friend is all decked out in a flashy purple outfit, complete with blue and green striped stockings and a ridiculously poofy skirt.  You also catch a glimpse of a shiny gold tiara, peeking out from beneath her curly hairline.

          “I run Derse, silly gills!” she chirps.  Derse.  That’s the name.  “Now have a seat.  We have a lot to go over.”  You take the chair closest to the enigmatic fish troll, and she almost shatters your eardrums.  “Glubs!  I need you!”  A short little Dersite is at her side in a matter of seconds.  “Our guest has arrived!”

          The little guy nods vigorously and turns to you.  “Hi!  I’m Clubs Deuce!”

          You shake his tiny hand.  “Dave Strider.”

          “Oh, I know!” he squeaks.  “You’re the knight!”

          You cock an eyebrow.  “I’m sorry?”

          He zips off and returns before you can blink, throwing open a scroll that is bigger than he is.  You are expecting pictures, but it’s just an overwhelming number of words.  “The prophecy!  ‘Before the great power strife, a valiant knight will rise from the darkness and lead his people to freedom!’  It’s you!  You’re the valiant knight!”

          “I’m no knight,” you chuckle.  “You must be thinking of someone else.”

          He points at your jacket.  “But you have the symbol!”

          Your mind jumps back to the cross-like symbol printed down the front of your favorite (and only) hoodie.  “Dude, I got the thing at a fucking thrift store.”

          “But it’s the symbol of knights.”

          “Thrift store.”

          “Symbol.”

          “Okay, that’s enough,” Feferi interrupts.  “Dave, we need your kelp.”

          “My kelp?”

          “Help.”

          You lean back in the chair, folding your arms over your chest.  “Why me?  I’ve never done anything useful.  I wrote a comic once.  That’s about as useful as I’m going to get.”

          “Don’t be ridikrillous.  You saved Mister Vantas.  You’re too hard on yourself.  Anemoneway, do you mind herring me out?”  You remain silent, and she explains the situation.  “Sollux already told you, I’m shore, that you and Carpkat are in danger.”

          “His name is Sollux?”  You stifle your laughter, as you realize that the speech-impaired troll has joined you.  “Life is cruel, dude.”

          “Thut the fuck up, Thtrider.”

          Feferi continues as though you have not interrupted.  “You aren’t the only one in danger.  Your eeledgedly harmless Betty Crocker is plotting a takeover - first of Derse, then shell work her way up: California, then all of western America, the rest of America, and eventually the whole world.”

          “Betty Crocker?  You’re joking, right?  This is a joke.  Did Karkat put you up to this?”  Her expression is grave.  “Holy shit.  This is seriously a thing.”

          “She likes power, and she won’t stop until the universe is in the palm of her hand.”

          You rub the bridge of your nose.  God damn.  “How do you know all this?”  She hesitates and exchanges a look with Sollux.  “What?”

          “She’s my mother.”


	9. Nine

          “Back up.”  You can’t quite wrap your head around the words your fishy friend has just spoken.  “Back up, park the vehicle, and turn the engines off.  Are you telling me that you’re related to Betty Crocker?  The Betty Crocker?”

         Feferi chortles.  “Well, you should know that Betty Crocker isn’t her real name.  That’s just the name she hides behind.  She goes by many names, but most of us call her the Condesce, or simply Betty Crocker.”

         “Okay, I think I’m following you so far.  I still don’t understand what you want me to do about it.  I’m just one kid.”

         “You’re not just any kid!” Clubs chimes in.  “You defied her wishes!”

         “You lost me.”

         “Crocker hath a bounty on your head, tho you’re ath much a part of thith ath the retht of uth, whether you like it or not,” Sollux explains.  You blink, and he sighs.  “Thith kid ith hopeleth.  Maybe we should talk to Vantath inthtead.”

         “How the hell is it my fault that I don’t know what the fuck is going on around here?  It’s not like I get the Derse Weekly newspaper or anything.”

         Feferi stands up and places herself between you and Sollux, and for good reason: Sollux has begun to spark, and you’re a little afraid he might electrocute you.  “Clam down, Sollux dear.  As for you, Dave, Hell is currently being run by guess-who.”

         “Crocker’s running Hell?  Okay, now I know I’m dreaming.  I’ve never met Satan, but I was always under the impression that he was a dude.”

         “Your imprethion ith wrong, dipshit.”  You don’t know what you did to get on this guy’s nerves, but now he’s starting to piss you off.

         She shushes him.  “We don’t have time for this.  He’s going to wake up soon.”  She leads Sollux over to a chair far away from you before speaking again.  “Dave, all you can do right now is get yourselves safe.  We’ll talk about a plan the next time you--”

****

         “Dave?”  Fuck.  Not now.  You push your pillow over your head, but Karkat is shaking you.  “Wake up, shitstain!”

         “Fugoff,” you murmur.  You are relieved to find that he has stopped shaking you, and you hear footsteps as he.. Oh fuck, he’s not leaving.  He’s…  You sit up abruptly and look over at the other side of the bed, where he is now tucked comfortably under the covers.  “What the fuck are you doing?”

         “Don’t jump to conclusions, ass-hat.  This isn’t what you think.”

         “Enlighten me.”

         “The roof above my bed is leaking, so I need a place to crash for the night.  Deal with it.”

         You groan and shove your face back into the pillow.  “Just don’t bother me.”  It’s not that you don’t want him here; these just aren’t ideal circumstances.

         It is silent for all of twelve seconds.  “You talk in your sleep sometimes.”

         “Oh my god.  This is not a conference room.  It’s a fucking bedroom.  There are two things people do in bedrooms at this time of night.  One of them is sleep.  Now, if you’d like to get to the other one, I have no complaints, but--”

         “Fuck off, Strider.  Forgive me for making sure you’re okay.  I heard you mumbling about Hell again and I thought I‘d check on you, but I guess that‘s not acceptable in the fortress of Strider, is it?”  He huffs and turns his back to you.

         “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the concern--”

         “Go the fuck to sleep.”

         You wish it was that simple.  For a long time, you drift in and out of a state of half-consciousness, the place where your nightmares exist.  You’re awake on neither Earth nor Derse, merely in a partially asleep stupor somewhere between the two.  Your mind is plagued with vague images of demons tearing the people you know and the people you once knew limb-from-limb.  Karkat is the most painful to watch, yet he is the most common to appear.  There is absolutely nothing you can do to stop his death from occurring over and over and over again.  You feel powerless against fate.

         When you awaken, Karkat has you pressed firmly against himself.  You are trembling, so his warmth is more welcoming than words can describe against the cold you feel both inside and out.  You nuzzle your cheek gratefully against his collar bone and he responds by brushing a hand through your hair.

         “Does this happen every night?”  You shrug.  You would like to say no, but you know that isn’t true.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

         “It isn’t your problem.”

         “Fuck you!  I’ll decide what is and isn’t my problem.  This has officially become my problem, Dave.  And I intend to do something about it, whether you approve or not.”

         “What do you plan on doing?  You gonna sleep with me every night?”

         “If that‘s what it takes.”  You hope he doesn’t notice the pleasant shiver that those words send down your spine.  He pushes your face up so you’re forced to look at him.  Fuck, you wish you had your glasses on.  “Dave, I know what it’s like to be scared about something and have to deal with it alone.”  You are hit with a pang of guilt.  “You’re lying if you say it’s fun, okay?  So don’t be a stubborn jackass about this.  Just let me help you.”

         You smirk.  “Didn’t realize you wanted to sleep with me that badly, Karkat.  You could have just asked, you know.  My bed’s always open.”

         “Step on a Lego, ass-wipe.”

         “Words hurt, Vantas.”  Your clock says it’s 5:27 and your mind jumps back to what Feferi said about the two of you skipping town.  But you don’t want to drop everything and move until you have some confirmation.  “Hey, Karkat?”

         “Hey, what?”

         “This is kind of a long-shot, but can I take you to lunch tomorrow?  Or, uh, later today, actually.  There’s this great place within walking distance and their shakes are the shit.”

         “I have to work, idiot.”

         That’s right.  You swallow.  “Call in sick.”

         “Were you dropped on your head as a wriggler?  I’m not going to call in sick just for a fucking date!”

         “Please?”

         He must sense your urgency, because he doesn’t argue.  “Just this once, but  I swear to gog, if you ever ask me to do this again, I will punch you in that conceited face of yours so hard, you’ll have to wear those lame shades on the back of your head.”

         “That doesn’t make any fucking sense, but whatever you say, Kitkat.”

         “Don’t call me that.”


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the support I'm getting for this story makes me incredibly happy, so thank you all so much for reading. There was a bit of an error in chapter eight that I went back and fixed, but you might not have noticed it the first time through. Apologies anyway!  
> Enjoy!

          There is no sign of Feferi at the diner as you and Karkat treat yourselves to two milkshakes and a small pizza.  You can’t help but glance back every time you hear footsteps, or try to peek into the kitchen every time the door opens.  What if Crocker got to her already?  Her instructions aren’t exactly crystal clear, and without her, you are absolutely perplexed by what is supposed to happen next.

          “Are you even fucking listening to me?”

          Your attention snaps back to Karkat, who has been jabbering incessantly at you about…  Fuck, what was he talking about?  “Yeah, yeah.  Something about Will Smith.”

          He groans.  “I knew it!  You’re not even paying attention to me.”

          “I am!  Sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind today, all right?”

          “Mnh.”  He tears another slice of pizza from the semicircle and slaps it onto his plate.  “I was talking about the new Final Destination movie.”

          “Oh, dude, no.  Those movies are an abomination to society.  What are we on now, like twelve?”

          “Only six, asshole!”

          “Whatever.  Those movies are not even ironically good.  Like if I had to choose between watching one of those movies and watching Dora the Explorer on a marathon, I‘d choose the latter.”

          “That show’s for wrigglers,” Karkat growls.

          “Hey, man.  Don’t be dissin’ on Dora.  She’s got a singing backpack.  Do you have a singing backpack?  Didn‘t fuckin’ think so.”

          “Wow, I cannot believe we are actually talking about this.”

          “Believe it.”

          The next time your waitress comes by, you ask about Feferi, and you learn that she has called in sick today.  You inquire further about an address or phone number, but the waitress doesn’t know anything.

          “You are incredible,” Karkat says after the check is left on the table.  “And by incredible, I mean an incredible asshole.  Why would you bother taking me on a date if you’re more interested in a waitress who isn’t even fucking here?  I shouldn’t be shocked that you‘re still trying to torment me even after you‘ve become human, but I am.  I am shocked at your innate ability to be the world’s most exasperating douchewagon ”

          “Would you calm your non-existent tits?  She’s just a friend, dude.  If you’re going to get all possessive and jealous, you better be willing to commit to an actual relationship.”

          You savor the moment as he goes red in the face.  “Shut up!”  At least he didn’t say no.

 

          As you walk with Karkat back home, you scour through your mind for a way to convince him to run away with you.  God, that sounds so fucking cheesy, but that’s exactly what he’ll imagine you mean when you bring it up.  The quiet between the two of you is awkward and unsettling, and you are both too stubborn to speak up.  On top of that, you aren’t even certain if your lunch meeting could be considered a date.  If you make a move and it wasn’t, you’ll get shut down, but if you don’t make a move and it was, you know Karkat’s going to resent you for it later.

         You heave a sigh and he gazes at you inquisitively.  You choose to risk it and slip your hand into his.  He stares at you incredulously, but doesn’t withdraw, and you try in vain to keep the heat from rushing to your face.

         “You are the least romantic person I have ever met, Dave.”

         “Screw you.  I’m fucking Romeo.”

         “Romeo was a fucking moron who got himself and his horny matesprit killed, shit-for-brains.”

          “Whatever.  Listen, Karkat.  I want to talk to you about something.”

          “What?”

          Oh, boy.  This ought to be fun explaining.  “We’re in trouble.  Well, mostly I am, but you hang out with me, which of course has put you in danger as well.”

          “What’s new?”

          “I’m being serious here.  Feferi told me that a certain relative of hers is pissed at my existence and wants us both dead, along with the rest of the universe, possibly.”

          “Okay.  So?”

          “So we have to…”  You stop mid-sentence and stare up at Karkat’s house, or rather its smoldering remains.  It looks like there has been an explosion here, and all that is left is the foundation and a shit load of ashes.  You take a peek at your friend, who is gaping, shell-shocked.  “They’ve already started.”  He tries to run inside, but you hold him back.

          “Let go of me, asslord!”

          He struggles against your grasp, but you hold onto him firmly.  “Karkat, there’s nothing worth rescuing.  We have to go.”  Dragging him away kicking and screaming does not work for you, so you actually resort to tossing the furious little guy over your shoulder before sprinting away from the smoking scene.

          Eventually, you convince him to cut his losses and he starts to begrudgingly run alongside you.  Karkat is torn up about his hive (actually it’s just a house, but he refuses to use human nomenclature for mundane objects), and you do your very best to comfort him.  It doesn’t matter what you say, however.  He’s not talking to you.

          Your paces slow to a walk as you reach the outskirts of the city.  At some point, Karkat mumbles something about a forest, but camping in the woods doesn’t sound any safer than being chased by Crocker and her cronies.

          “Hey, kids.”  You and Karkat freeze simultaneously as a tiny male Dersite steps out from behind one of the trees.  “Wanna buy some drugs?”  He opens his coat and it’s full of various types of nut.

          “Clubs?  What the hell, dude?”

          “Okay, I don’t actually have any drugs,” he says, chagrined.  “But Feferi sent me to find you guys.  She said you’d need these.”  He disappears into the forest and comes back seconds later, dragging two backpacks behind him.  “Everything you’ll need until you can find a proper place to stay.”  Clubs glances around nervously, and lowers his voice.  “But she didn’t pack any peanuts, so if you want, I could--”

          “That’ll do, Clubs.”  You and Karkat hoist the backpacks over your shoulders.  They’re not as heavy as Clubs makes them look.  “Is she all right?”

          “She’s just hiding.  She’s an even bigger target than you guys, so she couldn’t risk coming out of hiding today!”

          “Send her my thanks, little man.”

          He nods.  “Now keep going.  There should be a tent in one of those bags.”


End file.
